


Hiraeth

by Dissonance (orphan_account)



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Kissing, Whump, kidnapping and torture, nothing worse than that tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-05 01:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12784017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Dissonance
Summary: Everything is going down the drain, his life, his career. He's finding it harder to even get up in the morning, or get up at all. He starts contemplating whether he should go on, but something changes. On a midnight trip into his kitchen to get a drink, Ryan realizes someone's in his house.--I've realized that the tags on this make it seem like Brendon is the kidnapper, and that was not the intention because he's not. Just a disclaimer..





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> startlingly similar to one of my other works, take my ryden horror story about angst and romance. shorts chapters mean i will be able to update quicker, so i feel it's for the best. also, to make things more convenient for this, brendon never married sarah.
> 
> [ disclaimer: i completely respect all relationships the subjects of this fic are in irl, i just like the idea ]

Ryan sat up in bed, sweating.

Another one, another stupid dream, nightmare, whatever. He shook his head with a breathy sigh and rubbed at his eyes, trying to shake away the deep feeling burning in his chest. He couldn't decide if it was hatred or misery, sitting there, mocking him. Keeping him up at night or making sure he couldn't sleep at all. Ruining any day that seemed to be going right for once. 

He flopped back down on the hard mattress, and immediately regretted his decision to go back to bed. He shook his head, sitting back up and placing his bare feet on the cold wooden floor. Standing up is hard, and he swayed for a few moments, slapping a hand on the wall in an attempt to steady himself. He closed his eyes hard, forcing out any liquid that would blur his vision later.

He needed to get over it, he knew. It had been eight whole years since the breakup, since he and Jon left. Ryan remembered and stuck by why he did it, but over the years more and more regret and remorse built up in his heart, plagued his mind. He couldn't help it, the media was obsessed with his leaving and him in general, and he was reminded of it on a daily basis. At first, he found dangerous thoughts pulling him from slumber, and then after that the days began to become harder. He would stay in bed for entire days, just lying there with the blanket snuggled up to his neck, staring listlessly at the green-twinged lamp on his nightstand. It was easier to do that than deal with what his life had become.

He walked down the hallway, eyes wide and ears tuned into the soft slapping of his feet on the floor. It was incredibly dark in his sad little apartment, so even the piano sitting in the corner was masked by shadows. He felt like he shouldn't breathe, shouldn't disrupt it, but he did anyways, startled by how loud the exhale was compared to everything else.

He stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing his bare upper arms and wincing under his breath at how cold it was. He could've swore he turned the heat on.

He grabbed a glass off the counter, the same one he used the night before. It was all a routine now - wake up, breathing heavily and sweating, get out of bed and get yourself a glass of water. Easy and simple, but repetitive, and Ryan was getting sick of it.

He turned the handle next to the faucet, flinching at the sudden noise of the water streaming out of the tap. He knew he was getting unhealthily anxious, wincing at any unexpected sound, no matter how small or unimportant. A man coughing behind him in line at a shop, a squirrel rustling the leaves above his head at the park. Anything, really, and it bugged him. He was thirty one years old, he shouldn't be acting like a skittish teenager. 

He put his hand under the lukewarm stream of water, turning his hand over and watching it trail down his skin in thick and fast-running rivulets until it was cold enough for his liking. He held the cup under it, watching the cloudy glass fill, pulling it away when it was almost at the rim. He brought it up to his lips, taking a long and slow drink, trying to aid his hoarse throat.

Maybe he was sick. It had happened many times before. Singing too much, been in too many crowded places, his voice got tired, started to crack and ache. But that was before, back when a whole lot of people came to see him, Brendon, Jon, and Spencer. Back when he was still with the band. Back when he was still _with_ Brendon.

Before he knew it, the water cup slipped from his hand and fell to the floor, shattering on impact. Dottie was sent off on a frenzy, barking wildly and banging loudly at the edges of her kennel. He slid down the side of the counter, head in his hands, breathing unnaturally quickly. Back when Brendon still loved him was when he could get sick, when someone cared enough to help him. He pulled his knees up to his chest, leaning forward. Anyway, Ryan didn't think you could get sick from sitting and wasting away in your apartment, waiting for the days to end.

He looked up, staring forlornly at the shards of sharp glass sitting adjacent to him. He shook his head. He wasn't going to clean that up, and he honestly didn't care if he stepped on one of them, the long, thin edges puncturing the bottom of his foot. He really didn't. If that happened, he probably wouldn't even clean up the blood. Just leave it there to stain the tiled floor, remind him of his failures when he made his nightly trip to keep himself from dying of dehydration. He didn't know why he didn't just stop - stop trying, stop getting out of bed to do anything. Just let himself fade away.

Ryan sighed, trying to will away the thoughts. He reminded himself it had been years since everything went down, and he shouldn't be dry sobbing into his shirt sleeves over the things that had happened. He leaned against the wall, close to falling back down into an pitiful position on the floor.

Dottie's barks, more urgent now, brought him out of his stupor, and he turned his head in the general direction of her cage, before standing up, careful not to tread on the shards as he tip-toed out of the kitchen. He walked forward, listened very closely. She was growling now, a deep, low sound that he hadn't heard her make before. Apprehensive fear overtook the dull sadness that had been previously plaguing him, brown eyes wide and attempting to take in everything that was around him.

The loud sound of Dottie snapping her jaws at something made Ryan go rigid, chills running up his spine. He paused, frozen to the spot, the snarling continuing. Then, the sound of her kennel being opened rang throughout the room, and a pinging noise. Dottie yelped, but then there was silence.

Concern and anger built up in Ryan's chest as he raced blindly toward where he had placed her cage, shouting some forced through gritted teeth question about the identity of the intruder. He turned the corner to the little space between the door and the living room, met with a woman standing still in his door frame, gripping the handle. Ryan tried to take her in, the short blonde hair hovering just centimeters from her shoulders, the cold dark eyes, and the entirely black outfit, but was cut off by a noise. A loud, popping noise, like someone dropping a three hundred page hardcover book in the middle of a very echoey building. He was very confused for a second, his ears ringing from just how deafening that sound actually was, before he felt it. A wetness building up on the left side of his stomach, soaking the fabric of his shirt all the way through. Ryan fell to his knees, a shaky gasp passing through parted lips, hands grasping at the red stain growing across the fabric of his gray shirt. He looked up, and finally registering the silver pistol the woman held in her offhand, he fell unconscious.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do I come up with ideas? Easy answer: sit in the shower - yes, sit - and brainstorm. It's how I've written every single fic I posted on here, along with lying in bed, thinking of ideas to put me to sleep. Oh, and music. That's a big one.

The first thing he felt was pain, like you'd expect from a bullet wound to the stomach.

His eyes fluttered open begrudgingly, greeted with a bright, reddish orange light. His first thought was if he was dead. When people talk about their near death experiences they usually say something about a white light, or a tunnel, so it was a fair thing to assume, 'cept for the whole red thing. The only other problem with that idea was he could still feel the hole dug into his abdomen, sending jolts of fire up his chest, nerves screaming at any slight movement. And, if he blinked fast enough, he could make out something beyond the light. A dark ceiling, true color obscured by the light casting on it. 

Ryan groaned, attempting to bring his hands to feel the wound, something he'd never experienced, but was stopped by something bound tightly around his wrist. Something cold, hard, unmoving. Metal. He tried to move his legs, but found that his ankles too were connected to what he was laying on. A flat surface, cold against his bare back.

Wait. He was shirtless.

Confused and panicked, Ryan thrashed, attempting to sit up or break the cuffs melded to the table. He breathed heavily, brown eyes wide and now fully awake and aware.

With arms glued to the table, he was barely able to bend his body forward, but what he was met with wasn't good. There were tables, similar to the one he was on, lining the walls of the room, sitting on them beige plastic buckets of some kind of fluid. Inside it were what looked like pictures, the same kind hung up on strings all around the place. Ryan squinted, trying to focus on one - and almost fainted at the sight. It was him, almost entirely naked, taken from in between his blinds at his bedroom window. His heart raced, blood rushing past his ears. He looked at another one, of him and Dottie, outside on a walk, and another, a printed picture set against the wall and much larger than the rest. His hands shook - It was a picture of him and Brendon, one that he didn't even know existed. He was suddenly very nauseous, and he closed his eyes, swallowing thickly.

He lied back against the cold metal table, his bandaged abdomen complaining at the strain sitting up had caused. He gave one last yank at the rings secured tightly around his wrists, before opening his mouth and shouting for someone, anyone. 

His screams were cut off when a door he hadn't even seen was thrown open, that same woman from before waltzing in. Her blonde hair was wet and slick to the sides of her face, and her body was only covered by a towel that she held closely under her arm.

Ryan thrashed again, shouting louder despite what her cold stare seemed to command. She walked to the side of the table, an unnerving smile settled on her pale face.

"Could you pretty please shut up?" She asked, a bittersweet twinge to her high-pitched voice. It was cheery, unnecessarily so, especially for the situation and the meaning of her words. "I'm trying to shower, and I'm having company. So," She puckered her lips, a pout settling on her face. "You maybe could do the right thing and be a little quieter, 'kay? Try to be a little nice?"

Flustered, Ryan sputtered some incomprehensible noise of shock as he stared at her, pulling on the cuffs and ignoring the pain radiating from his stomach. "Wha- no! No, where the hell am I? Let me go!" He shouted, voice shaking with anger, fear, and a bunch of other emotions just aiding to his panic. 

Not even flinching at his words, she leaned forward, a scarily calm look of controlled rage sitting behind her brown, almost black eyes. He could see his own face in them, like they were a mirror. She grabbed him by the chin in a grip that would probably cause bruising and pulled his face toward hers, smiling sweetly. "Now, be nice," She hissed out through gritted teeth, that chipper tone still evident, "You live here now, under my roof. So that means my rules, and if you don't follow them.." She released him, slamming his head down with enough force to make him see stars for a moment. "Well, we'll just see what happens then, hmm?"

She cocked her head at him for a moment, pulling her towel farther up her body, smiling widening, before briskly walking back to the exit of the room. She grabbed the edge of the door, swinging it shut, but catching it right before it could close. She stuck her head through the crack, same entirely mad expression decorating her face. 

"So, now that you understand, you should know to keep quiet. If you do, nothing bad will happen." She blinked at him, silent for a few moments. "You got that?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one was super short, much shorter than the other one. also, im sorry for all the mistakes probably made, it's currently midnight!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning, it's one am and im not proof reading or editing it 'cause im tired and messed up as hell rn

Ryan awoke to voices.

He had fallen asleep a while after the woman left. In fear of what would happen if he tried to call for help again, he'd kept his mouth shut, basically fainting when he found the throbbing ache radiating from the wound in his stomach too much to handle. He didn't know how much time had passed, either, since there were no clocks or windows.

The voices were muffled by the walls, but he could tell there were at most three other people. He could make out the shrill, gleeful voice of his kidnapper, greeting whoever she was having over. Ryan's chest heaved as he used all his strength to pull at the cuffs, but alas, it did not work. He really didn't know what he was expecting, it's not like even when he wasn't bound to a table and didn't have a bullet hole in his stomach could he pull welded metal off something.

Ryan strained his ears, stopping breathing just so he could maybe make out something, something to indicate where he was or maybe even a way out, but could hear nothing of importance, other than laughs. He contemplated screaming, but his thoughts were cut off by footsteps, the noises moving. The talking was still there, in it's rightful place, but less loud, as if one person had left.

"Hey," Ryan whispered urgently, but as the person continued to pass by the door, he raised his voice. "Hey, help!"

The footsteps stopped, slightly retracing back to the disguised entrance of the room he was kept in. It was opened slightly, and a man's head peeked in, looking around twenty years older than Ryan himself. He pulled on the cuffs, trying to lean up. He wasn't even trying to be discreet anymore. "Help me, please, she's tied me in here-"

He was cut off by the woman's voice, a loud question echoing through the building. _What are you doing?_ she had said, and it shook Ryan to the bone. The cheerfulness was gone.

The man turned, letting the door creak open fully. Ryan struggled, pulling fruitlessly. He was screaming now. "Hey, someone help me! She's crazy, she locked me in here, shot me-" His pleas were ignored, the man disappearing behind the wall. He could still hear their voices. 

"Ana, who is that?" The man asked, a slight tremor to his voice.

"Another one of my.. playmates," The woman - who Ryan assumed was Ana - responded quickly and calmly. "I forgot to tell him the session's over. He's just doing his job, Daniel, please give him a break. And all of them in general, it's just to keep them afloat." Ryan, still shouting desperately, was almost overcome with confusion. She paused, and he could hear a scoff from someone else. "Don't shame me for my choice in foreplay, Elizabeth. I know you do worse."

Ryan almost choked, and his screams were cut off as heat rose to his cheeks. _What the fuck?_

"Adam," Ryan's eyes widened as he spied Ana swinging into view, apparently addressing him as Adam, dressed in a tight gray dress, hair straightened and almost touching her shoulders, but still hovering safely. She waltzed in, heels Ryan couldn't see clicking on the concrete floor, before she once against stood beside his head. She leaned in, eyes mischievous and scarily fierce, similar to a cat's, placing her dark ruby lips right next to his ear. He tried to inch away, but felt a hand cupping the other side of his face, holding it in place. "I told you not to scream," She whispered rapidly, the hot breath hitting his face grossly, "and you still did. I was planning on letting you out of these restraints soon, but it seems you don't deserve that mercy, or any mercy anytime soon." She masked the threat with a kiss, lipstick leaving a red blotch near his eye, leaning away and looking him in the eye. 

She sighed, tilting her head, looking disappointed. "You can stop now, honey," She announced sweetly, sending a look toward her friends standing idle in the hallway, "I'll let you out and give you your check after Daniel, Elizabeth, and Mary leave, 'kay? Sit tight 'till then." She feigned a happy smile while grabbing his hand and squeezing before striding to the door, heels clicking. Then, she slammed it and left him to stare.

\--

It wasn't long before Ana was back in the room, which now clicked in Ryan's head as a darkroom. A place where someone develops photos, not where they keep people tied to a table. He wanted to say something snarky at her about it, but the stare she sent him as she close the wall-door was one that shut him up before he even opened his mouth, make him want to run away. 

" _You_ ," She hissed, voice shaking. "You almost _ruined_ it for me. You're lucky your kidnapping story hasn't been released to the public yet, _Ryan Ross_ , or you'd be in pieces and floating down the river before you could scream _'help me'._ " She rushed forward, grabbing something obscured behind the plastic bins as she rushed to her side. She was enraged, a stark contrast to how she was before, as she held out the item and ran it forcefully across Ryan's chest.

He barely even found time to scream at the knife ripping apart his skin, carving a couple inches above his bullet wound. One line, two, three. A total of five lines, in a shape Ryan's mind couldn't put a finger on in the midst of his agony. Blood was already leaking from the cuts, and he breathed heavily, pulling on his restraints wildly as tears welled up in his eyes.

He couldn't even see Ana as she slashed again, this time without shape, just mindless lines back and forth, back and forth. He cried out, trying to turn away, only allowing the knife to stab into his side as she missed. 

" _P-please stop, stop!_ " Ryan screamed, voice too high and cracking from strain. His thoughts of being sick were in the past, he was now one hundred percent sure his voice was hurt because of nightmares, and now, screaming from overall pain. 

When he forced those comprehensible words out, Ana stopped, and Ryan heard the dull clatter of the knife as it was dropped on the concrete, feeling like the noise was a thousand miles away. He breathed heavily, crying like a baby, body freezing cold except for the fire on his chest. He could feel blood streaming out of the ruined skin, covering the metal table and dripping on the ground. 

"Oh my god," Ana's voice broke through the static, distraught and shocked. "I'm so sorry, god, I'm sorry." He managed to turn his head a bit just in time to see her holding her face in her hands, mascara dripping down her cheeks, blood on her fingers. Then, she bolted out of the room.

He didn't even flinch when the door was once again slammed, shaking the containers of fluid and photos. He shivered, sobs dying down as dark spots appeared in his eyes. It hurt so much, more than anything Ryan had ever experienced and he just wanted to get away, so he let unconsciousness claim him, body falling limp as he promptly fainted.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ana is what some might call a psychopath, and others might refer to as a stalker fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for this chapter

A buzzing noise entered Ryan's ears, and he was really getting sick of this whole passing out thing. The noise seemed to be emanating from the lights, but now it was amplified, like the ringing you hear whenever you're in a silent area. Nonexistent but there, screaming at you.

His eyes were closed, active beneath his eyelids, back from sleep. He could hear, hear his own slow and unsteady exhales, feel moisture dripping down his bare chest. A slight throbbing sting coming from the long, straight but uneven red lines across it. Being conscious was tiring, and his worn body had already decided to return to the nothingness when he felt a pressure on one of the cuts, pushing and exerting more water, dabbing the wound, on back off, on and off down the line. He then realized that his own breaths were accompanied by someone else's, more quick and unfocused, higher in pitch and sweeter in tone.

The familiar sensation of being forced completely awake so soon after regaining consciousness spread through him like wildfire, fear and adrenaline pumping through his veins as his brown eyes snapped open. He pushed himself backwards roughly, slamming his shoulders against the metal legs of the table, hearing it skid a bit to the side with a jagged screech. The bin that had been situated on top toppled over and hit the ground loudly, spilling the fluid inside and throwing the wet and half-developed photos onto the ground.

The woman sat in front of him, on her knees, a sopping white but reddened by blood rag held tightly in her hand. Her eyes were wide, but not with shock or fright at him waking up so suddenly, but with curiosity, interest, the kind that made you want to curl up into a ball. A piercing gaze that cut right through you.

"Woah, settle down," Ana started, holding her hands up in a gesture to show she was harmless. Ryan resisted the urge to scoff, harmless wasn't a word to describe her, but instead just pursed his lips in defiance. "I'm just cleaning your wounds. You have to stay still, 'kay?" 

Ryan immediately tried to stand, to flee, but found that there was a rope around his chest and arms, strung and tied tightly around the table legs. He was pulled back onto the concrete, breathing heavily, eyes wide, wounds aching from the stress he'd put on them. He looked down at his chest, and saw that each gash had been sewn in neat and small strokes. There was drying blood around the mostly transparent wiring, some new leaking out in between the skin because of his awakening. He begrudgingly admitted in his head that she'd done good, and was stubbornly thankful for her saving him from bleeding out. 

Ryan tilted his head back, giving her the eye before sighing in defeat. "Fine," He spat, flexing his fingers, realizing they weren't tied to anything. He put that information in his head for later.

Ana nodded thoughtfully, blonde hair bouncing just on the verge of touching her shoulders, before leaning forward, pushing Ryan more into the back of the table as he dabbed at his wounds. He leaned back, relaxing slightly giving his lungs room to breathe. He kept his eyes open though, gaze roaming the walls and the strings hung across the room. The pictures that Ryan'd seen before were still there, but now another one was situated next to him and Brendon drinking coffee at their house. He winced and closed his eyes momentarily as Ana placed the rag back on his chest, leaving the dabbing behind and now just running it along the cut, but when he opened them the picture was still there. It was him, he was sure of it, and from recently. The other one, obviously, was when he was still in the band. This one was him, hair messy and unkempt, eyes closed and face peaceful. He was in the back seat of a car, laying down in a loose fetal position, a dull yellow streetlight shining in through the window. It highlighted his cheeks, shone on his nose, making him look younger, but it was still obviously recent. Then, as his eyes traveled to the left of the picture, he noticed something he should've noticed way before. That him was wearing the same clothes as he was now, except for the shirt, which was missing, and dark crimson stain was very noticeable, a splash across the gray fabric. His eyes flicked down to the dirty bandages wrapped around his stomach, then back at the photo. That was him before he came there, when he was being taken. Ana wanted to enclose that moment forever, the memory saved in a _photograph_. Bile rose at the back of his throat, but he kept it down.

"Why-" He was murmuring, but then his voice cracked, causing him to pause. "W-why did you take that?" He turned his face back toward her, brown eyes wide and cautious, disturbed. She glanced up at where he'd been previously staring, mouth turning up in a grim smile that made Ryan inch his legs toward himself, a primal instinct erupting inside of him, begging him to get away so she couldn't touch him.

"Well, the reason is simple," Ana started, setting the rag slowly and gently onto the chipped concrete floor. She inched closer, face unreadable, sliding her thing body between Ryan's legs. He pushed back, the table screeching as he did so, trying to push her away but felt her inching closer still. His breathing picked up as she pushed her chest against his bloodied one, warm and soft face brushing against his. He held his chin the air, trying to make sure what he thought was going to happen didn't happen, but she grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back toward her. "You're so very cute." Oh no. That was fucking weird. Ryan shook his head, the dainty fingers still caressing his scalp, their eyes met. Hers were incredibly lustful, hungry and dangerous, a slight bit of affection lingering behind the irises. He opened his mouth, but before he could get anything out, Ana pushed in, lips meeting his and snuffling out the scream.

It was absolutely horrible. Her tongue threatened to get past his lips, but he kept them shut tight, shaking his head in defiance. She pushed against his body more, thrusting, rubbing her forehead against his before continuing with the "kiss". 

" _Help me!_ " He screamed, finding time to snap his head to the side, but Ana only pulled his hair and repositioned his face. She let out a moan, and Ryan felt himself hyperventilating as he thrashed, trying to wiggle out between Ana and the table legs, but it was no use. She came out for a breath, and the time Ryan had in between he came up with an idea.

As she came back down to deliver another kiss, he bit down as hard as he could on her bottom lip.

Ana let out a cry, leaping like a frightened cat away from him. Ryan coughed, gagging at the overall experience and the taste of iron lingering on his teeth and in his mouth. He looked up, and saw her crying, hands cradling her busted lip. It was bleeding pretty profusely, and looked like it hurt a lot. Ryan's chest heaved, and he fixed her with a steady glare, once again attempting to get released from his chains.

Her soft, sad eyes hardened at his look, and she wiped her hands on her thighs. A tight scowl sitting on her face. "I let you out of those cuffs," she motioned toward the general direction of the table he'd been strapped to, "and you treat me like _this_?" Ryan started getting flashbacks to the encounter before, her sudden fury, and red lines etched into his chest. His eyes widened in fear, head screaming, telling him he was stupid and should've thought of that before.

"No, no, no-" Ryan was muttering quickly, shaking his head. Something about her now radiated dominance, and the temperature seemed to go down, limbs numbing. He continued to shake his head like an insane man. "No, I didn't-"

He was cut off by the hard slap across his face. Heat rose to the spot, the bright red handprint already appearing stark against the creamy skin. His head was whipped to the side, and his neck ached from the movement. He looked back, only to see a bin full of that chemically smelling liquid flying toward his head. He didn't have time to duck as it banged against his skull, pouring the syrupy fluid all down his front. 

Everything was blurry. He couldn't smell anything but that bitter odor, feel the stuff creeping in and out his nose at each breath. He eyes were shut, protected from possible blinding toxins. His mouth was shut, but some managed to get in, and he gagged soundlessly, tasting like someone had forced him to suck on a white, powdery pill for an hour. His head ached and he could already feel a bump forming on his temple. His brain seemed to pulse against his skull, the sound loud and overpowering. Somewhere in a far away land he knew someone was untying the ropes around his limp body, but even if he wanted to he couldn't do anything about it.

He spat out the chemical concoction, groaning quietly as Ana grabbed him by his hair again and yanked him away from the ropes. She was still fuming, he could tell from how roughly his body collided with the tables lining the walls, hearing the swishing of the liquid in the bins. Another noise of pain escaped his lips, and he barely managed his eyes open before the first kick came.

One at his chest, aggravating the previous injuries she'd inflicted on him, then another at his stomach, the bullet wound causing him to cry out, tears once again started to make their way down his face. The foot stopped for a second, and Ryan thought he was in the clear, but then another came, right at his face. He thought his neck would snap at the movement, back of his head banging violently against another stupid table leg. He felt something in his nose snap, and like turning on a faucet, something wet started to stream out of Ryan's nose. He now attempted to shield his face, fingers spread in front of his eyes just in case she tried again, but no, she went back for his chest, and he heard a resounding _crack_.

Ana didn't even apologize this time - he heard her stomp out of the room, slamming the wall-door behind her. Then, he heard something clicking into place, and recognized the sound of a lock over his own sobs. He managed to force open his eyes, gazing dully across the gray expanse. Blood was pooling on the floor around his head from his nose, staining the ground underneath his chest from reopened wounds. He sniffled, trying to slow his crying, forcing himself into a sitting position.

He would not pass out his time, and as his nose continued to rush crimson down his cupid's bow and black started invading his vision, he promised himself he wouldn't fall unconscious.

Nevertheless, his brain broke that promise right away and gave up, newly limp body slapping back onto the concrete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed, this is the last totally hurt only chapter for a couple more chapters or whatever. sorry for mistakes and stuff, i write this super late at night and don't really have time to reread it without not being able to get at least three hours of sleep in


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short little chapter i had to finish before i begin my other much needed updates. thanks for reading, and please ignore the mistakes, as stated many times before i do not reread these before i post them

That corner stank. It smelled like blood and medicine, and it wafted around the much too small room, drowning out anything else that had ever been there. Ryan sat slumped in the opposite corner, as far away as he could get, sitting up with his knees at his chest. He didn't know why he was even trying to escape it. He smelled just as bad, maybe worse, his clothes still damp and radiating the scent. His old sore throat he'd been so worried about was much worse, and he found it hard to breathe, the air coming in thick and musky and like fire. He felt the need to vomit but was not able to satisfy the urge. He attempted to get away from all of it nonetheless, face shoved into the wall, wheezing trying to get clean air through the cement and down his damaged esophagus. 

He looked up, spotting his reflection in one of the many table legs situated around him. Crusty marks of blood that had been previously running down his face from his nose decorated it, a large bruise blossoming over the bridge. There were purples and blues and blacks, an overcoat of red splashed across the it, slightly swollen and very hot. One of his eyes was narrowed unnaturally, and the area under it was puffed up with a dark rosy pink color, like he'd been hit in the face, which he had been.

His lips were chapped and he was shivering despite the apparent hot temperature of the room. Yeah, he decided, something was wrong, and along with his throat feeling like it was chemically burned, he was sure he was sick. His nose had started to run, sluggishly attempting to push away the dried blood that had welled there. He sniffled, bringing a stiff and sore arm up to wipe at his upper lip.

Right as another sniffle echoed into the empty expanse, Ryan heard the door creaking open. In strode Ana, not even caring that he wasn't restrained, new unstained heels clicking on the dirty concrete. In her hands was a phone - a _phone_ \- and she owned the most satisfied expression. She shut the door behind her, laying her dark eyes on Ryan's battered face, no concern sitting behind the irises, only twisted amusement. He felt small, too small, and he pushed himself against the wall, wishing it would open up and swallow him whole.

"Ryan," She greeted, her voice free of anger. "Oh, Ryan." She turned toward him, phone screen lighting up her cheery face. "They've started looking for you."

Ryan's heart started beating faster, and he watched her every move with anticipation, and not the good kind. "W-who?" he forced out, words scratchy and hoarse. It felt like a thousand needles digging into his lungs every time he spoke, and he swallowed, hoping he didn't have to speak again.

Ana let out a noise, an sharp _Hah!_ , slapping a hand on her hip. "Everyone, silly!" she explained plainly. "It's all over the news. People think you're dead. Isn't that neat?"

Ryan's eyes widened, and he flexed his fingers. All he could think was no, not _neat_ , not good at all. It was weird how it never came to him that he'd be looked for. He was mildly famous, if you could really call it that. But, he should've expected immediate media coverage on his disappearance, if someone happened to stop by his apartment and see blood on his carpet. Which would've been bound to happen sometime.

"And," Ana continued, snapping his attention back from himself to her. "Someone _special_ has made a statement. It's all on twitter, of course, everyone loves that social media. Not _my_ favorite though, but it's a good service when it comes to news." She made eye contact with Ryan for a second, a maddening smile settling on her face, before she looked back at the screen. "Anyhow, I'll get back on topic. Do you have any idea who that special someone is?"

Ryan narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips. No, he didn't know who that special someone was, nor did he really care. People with a large following releasing statements or their thoughts on something didn't really matter to him at all, it never did. It never seemed like they cared. But, despite that, Ryan's curiosity got the better of him; he shook his head, voicing an almost silent no, clearing his throat three times afterward.

Ana's grip tightened on her phone, and her smile widened impossibly. "Oh," She started, voice high, "It was you're former bandmate, of course."

Ryan's heart almost stopped. He subconsciously had been expecting that, something that would shake him, mess with his head, but it still came as a shock. His hands were shaking, and he nervously wound them together in an attempt to stop it. He didn't want to show Ana weakness, it only made her more confident, more controlling.

"Yes, a former something else too," She muttered sweetly, crouching down to Ryan's level. Ana tucked the phone in her pocket, cocking her head. She had her arms crossed, a smug look decorating that flawless porcelain face. "But I won't open that can of worms right now. Don't wanna see you bawl, sweetheart, do we?" A dreadful feeling of familiarity ran through him as her sharp tipped fingers grabbed him by his chin, her lips rushing forward and meeting his. He squeaked in shock, he was sure of it, but this time she pulled away before he even had time to fight back. 

"I've got to run some errands, but tomorrow - if you're good - I'll bring you on a date. That sound good?" She smirked, standing back at her full towering height. "Just a little outing for two friends, yeah? I might even let you pick something out." She licked her lips, that same terrifying expression shining in her dark eyes. "Yes. Tomorrow, okay?"

Ryan nodded soundlessly, and then she left.


	6. Chapter 6

Ryan was forced into a dark red sweatshirt, the fabric messing up his dirty hair and knocking the sunglasses off his nose. He stiffened at the clattering noise it made as it hit the floor, and bent down to hurriedly put them back on, but on his way back up he was met with a spray of lemon-scented perfume, like a floor cleaner. He stumbled backward, not able to silence the small sneeze that came from his nose.

"God, you're slow!" Ana whined, shoving the glasses back on Ryan's face while he was still recovering from having citrus mace sprayed in his face. He blinked, taking in the now black-tinted bathroom around him. "We have to be going, quick! I can't dress you every day for the rest of your life."

Ryan bit back a retort, flexing his fingers. He breathed in deeply, shaking his head and closing his stinging eyes. Although he felt dead already, he swore the embarrassment was going to kill him. He didn't need this, he didn't want this, but he couldn't help it. It's not like he wanted to get Ana angry again. Ana stood behind him, a hard grip on his shoulders, admiring him in the mirror with her signature smile. Her glassy eyes rolled in her head, and she sighed, grabbing the hood laying against his back and pulling it over his head. 

"Now," She said cautiously, twirling Ryan around and rubbing his wrist. "We remember what we can and can't do, correct?"

Ryan nodded quickly, smacking chapped lips before opening his mouth. "No interacting with other people," He recited quietly, voice scratchy and hoarse, sending a pang of emotional pain through him. His voice, his instrument, most likely ruined. He cleared his throat, inhaling sharply. "No leaving your side, hide your face, no speaking. Keep my hood up, and don't try to leave any fingerprints anywhere." His voice wavered at the last command, reminding himself of the severity of the situation.

Ana nodded gleefully. "Yes, yes, exactly! Good job!" She praised, stark white teeth glinting in the dull lighting above the mirror. She clapped him on the shoulder, bending down on her knees in front of him. Ryan almost decided to bolt before she brought out zip ties. He breathed a short sigh of relief, before he realized what this meant. She grabbed both of his hands and plunged them into the front pocket of the sweatshirt, tying his hands together in there so it just looked like he was just a teenager slouching. He probably could pass for one, too. He wasn't that tall, and he had a naturally lean frame, and people told him he looked pretty young when he shaved. 

Distracted by this new development, Ryan missed whatever Ana tucked somewhere in her jeans, but honestly he didn't care. He sighed, eyes hidden behind the dark tinted sunglasses, praying to god something would happen that would save him from this horror.

\--

 

Ryan followed Ana like a dog followed it's owner. He almost tread on her heels - actual stiletto heels - four times, but managed to almost trip over himself to avoid doing so. She didn't even bat an eyelash at his antics, mouth wide in a smile and dark eyes sparkling. He, like instructed, kept his eyes on the ground, hair hanging in front of his face encase the sunglasses din't do him justice. They passed a streetlight, and Ryan noted that it was probably very late, due to the lack of people bustling around and the absence of cars racing by. He also noted that he did not, at all, recognize where he was, and he knew in his heart that this was not even in the same state as his apartment.

Great, you know, being shot in the gut and kidnapped by a lunatic, taken unconscious across the country to someplace where you could never find home if you escaped. Just what he was looking for in a date.

The air stank of pollution, and the stores were unfamiliar, packed tight with people wearing spray tans and crop tops and shorts. Not clothing for where Ryan came from at all, and it further pushed the point that yes, he was somewhere else, somewhere probably far away.

He was about to peek into another shop when Ana rushed forward, turning abruptly up ahead and entering what looked like a coffee shop. Hands bound and nowhere else to go, Ryan ran forward, entering the place and quickly spotting her blonde head before hurrying toward her. They were standing in the far corner of the place, the farthest from the door. Ana sat down, a bittersweet smile settled on her pale face. He took the other chair situated next to the table, sitting and testing the strength of the zip ties in his pocket. He pulled, and yes, they didn't budge, only dug into his skin.

It was packed. The place was quaint, and wasn't designed for a mall's worth of people. Ryan didn't know how Ana had managed to get an open table right away, 

His eyes scanned the crowd, the people sitting everyone, and he realized that this was a huge risk. Someone could see him easily, and Ana was just sitting there, playing on her phone and sending him a glance every once and awhile like she couldn't be caught and sent to prison at one wrong move.

Ryan took a deep breath, lowering his head just a bit more. "Why-" He started, clearing his throat a bit and feeling nauseous. "They could, they could see me you know.." He whispered, trying to alter his voice just the tiniest bit. 

Ana looked up from her phone, satisfaction written in her eyes. "Well, I like risks. Gives me a little adrenaline rush, teetering on a cliff-side, one breeze able to send me over the edge. It's exhilarating. And, if push comes to shove, I could just shoot up this entire place." She acted like this was a normal thing to say. "I brought a pistol, and not to be prideful, I think I'm a pretty good shot." She winked at him, before lifting the edge of her wine-colored sweater, revealing a silvery gun shoved between her hip and her jeans.

Ryan's eyes widened, and his mouth formed a straight line. Oh, okay. That was a thing. Not a good thing, but a thing nonetheless. Fuck.

He knew now that if he tried to run at all, Ana would shoot someone, not him. No, she'd leave him to stare in horror as she killed more and more people, all those deaths Ryan's fault. He couldn't do that, these were innocent people, they had nothing to do with his kidnapping. They didn't deserve it.

Ana dropped the hem of her sweater back into place, leaning back in her chair and slipping her phone into her pocket. "So," She started, a smirk on her red lips. "Did you notice anything.. off, about this place?" She asked simply. "Or, perhaps, anyone?"

Ryan glanced around the room as subtly as he could, eyes running over people's heads, before turning back to his captor. "Uh, no, I didn't. Or don't, um, see anyone sticking out."

Ana seemed satisfied with that answer, and to push the point, she started quietly snickering. "You probably wouldn't, even though you've known him for years," She whispered, leaning close. "He's done a really good job of disguising himself. You know, being famous and all that, I'd want to have some normal person time too."

Ryan turned around in his chair, heart seeming to stop for moment as he searched the crowd, picking apart people's outfits and seeing past sunglasses and odd fashion choices. He was about to ask Ana what she was on about when he spotted him, at the end of the ordering line, having just entered. A thin scarf was tied around his neck, sunglasses settled on his nose, black brown hair almost completely hidden under a hood. His posture was the same, the way he held his phone, as the last time Ryan saw him in person. Back when they - the band - broke up.

Brendon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if net neutrality is repealed tomorrow, just know that I love you eleven people who kudos this, and all the people who kudos and commented on my other works..


	7. Chapter 7

Ryan couldn't help but stare, stone still and eyes wide. He looked different - Brendon did, that is - than he'd seen him before. Of course, he was all dressed up so that people wouldn't recognize him, but that wasn't what was different. Ryan wasn't 'people'; he recognized Brendon the moment he spotted him, even though he hadn't seen him in about two years, and he hadn't exactly been very friendly when they happened to run into each other.

He remembered it like it was yesterday. He left his apartment, an action that seemed to odd to him now, to just walk. It had been dark out, but Ryan didn't care. He was talking to someone unimportant over the phone, about something he couldn't remember, when he saw him. Walking up ahead, smoking a cigarette, eyes on his shoes. Ryan hadn't even known he was touring around where he lived, but that had been the case, and then there he was, right in front of him. Ryan, trying to be somewhat nice, had called out to him. Let's just say that Brendon didn't want anything to do with him, and made it very clear that night. That was probably what sparked Ryan's reclusiveness, why he didn't want to go outside or talk to people anymore, he just hadn't realized it until now.

But as he stared at Brendon now, the urge to call out was stronger than ever. He missed him so much, even though it had been years and they weren't even friends anymore, and both of them should've moved on. He just wanted to scream out, and not just because he had been kidnapped and held captive by a crazy woman.

He gulped, shaking his head, turning back to Ana. She was staring at him with wonder, her smile inhumanly wide.

"How did you know he'd be here?" Ryan whispered, almost inaudible, feeling like everyone's eyes were on him.

Ana leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms indifferently. "Oh, just a bit of stalking," She admitted like it was nothing. "some watching and waiting, keeping notes. He comes here every other Wednesday." 

Ryan didn't believe it. Brendon was super famous, thousands of fans and security to match the number, he couldn't just be _stalked_ easily. Not without being close to him. And that picture back in the dark room..

"How?" He asked, suddenly very aware of his wounds aching, the bruises on his face throbbing, eye behind the sunglasses partially narrowed from swelling. This woman, this woman was dangerous. She wasn't human. She beat him senselessly over one wrong word, she _was_ a _monster_.

Ana cocked her head, soulless eyes widening with interest. "Oh! I guess I forgot to mention I'm Panic! At The Disco's main photographer," She gushed, and the color drained from Ryan's face. This girl was the band's main photographer? She must've known Brendon personally, then, been around him for as long as she'd been employed. It all made sense. "Me and Brendon? Oh, we're good friends actually. Nothing like he is with Dallon, but you know, you can only get so close to somebody you pay to take your picture." All of this made Ryan's stomach tie into knots, fear leaking into his face. This woman, this insane, monstrous woman, was so near Brendon all the time. She could do anything - she could _hurt_ him, and Ryan couldn't have that. He couldn't deal with Brendon getting hurt. His breathing picked up, and he found himself quietly hyperventilating, imagining Brendon going through the things she was putting _him_ through. No. That couldn't happen. He couldn't bare it.

Mouth agape, he shook his head, feeling his already ruined and hoarse voice shaking under the pressure of all the knowledge he'd just earned. "You can't," He pushed out, water welling up in his eyes. "Please, you can't do anything. Don't do anything to him."

Ana pouted, making puppy eyes at him. "Aw, you still care about him, huh?" She mocked, lacing her fingers together. "You never stopped, even after Cape Town. Even after the years you've been apart. Eight of 'em, that is. You know how pathetic that really is?" She laughed quickly, before cutting herself off, face now completely serious. "Very pathetic, but very endearing, if you ask me. He doesn't care, though. Never has. And, actually, he's told me he's happy you're gone. Quote, _It's like a weight off my shoulders_ , unquote. He's at the peak of perfect mental health compared to you and your sad excuse for sanity." Ryan felt himself start crying. Not sobbing, not loud, no, just tears, running down his face slowly. The kind of crying where no one would notice unless they saw your face. The worst kind of crying.

He took in a shaky breath, leaning forward with his head down, pulling on the zip ties around his wrists and trying to contain himself. He could barely breathe. Brendon cared for him, he did. Even if it just was a little bit. Ryan had heard the songs he wrote after the break up - mentions of 'the sun' in very suspicious ways, an alias that Ryan had often used in reference to himself. There had to be some sort of mutual sadness from what happened. There had to be. _She lied,_ He told himself, none of it's true, but he just couldn't make himself believe it. She was close to him, a dangerous person capable of so much harm, and Ryan wasn't. She was right, and if their interaction two years before was anything to go by, it must've been the truth.

"Welp," Ana hit the table unceremoniously, knowing she had broke him, knowing she had weakened his mind and mental strength, and was happy about it. "I have to use the restroom, then we'll go home, 'kay? Don't go anywhere, you know what will happen if you do." He heard her slap her side where her gun was hidden, push the chair back, and make a kissy noise before her heels clicked off into the distance. He was left there, alone, sitting at a random coffee shop in the middle of the night, crying with his face bruised, a bullet hole in his stomach, broken ribs and a broken heart. He was utterly destroyed in all ways possible, even the cliche, and he didn't know how to fix it.

Suddenly, he heard someone approaching, but he did not hear the sharp sound of clicking heels. No, now he heard a softer noise, one easy on the ears. He stiffened, and then the chair across from him was occupied. He could tell without looking that it wasn't Ana.

"I'm just going to take this seat here, there's no other open ones," Ryan almost yelped at the pain of hearing Brendon's voice, clenching his hands into fists. "I hope you don't mind."

He could hear the friendliness in the singer's deep voice, and he sniffled as quietly as he could, feeling the much louder type of crying start to come to him. He couldn't, not here. But Ana was gone, and Brendon was there..

Brendon cleared his throat, and Ryan's chest ached worse than any of the slices across it ever did. "Hey, are you okay?" He said cautiously, voice soft and comforting, that addicting tone that Ryan yearned for, Ryan wished he still heard on an everyday basis. He felt the tears come faster, felt his whole body shivering like he'd suddenly come down with the flu. 

He had to see him. He had to look at him. He wanted to see those eyes again, or it would kill him faster than Ana could kill anyone else.

And so, pushing everything else unimportant to the back of his head, he looked up, glistening eyes meeting Brendon's brown ones. A beautiful dark shade, almost black, so familiar and stress-relieving but the very opposite at the same time, so wonderful. He remembered getting lost in those eyes every time he looked at them.

Then, like suspected, everything went to shit.

"Ryan?" Brendon's voice pulled him out of his daydream, and he abruptly stood, not giving him any time to process what he just saw, sprinting toward the door. It hurt to run so fast, and he collided with the glass door, slamming it open with his entire body as he raced down the street, feet slapping against the concrete. The noise, so alone, was then joined by another, gaining on him. That same voice that drifted through the air like silk, the one that made him feel better no matter how bad it was, was shouting his name so desperately.

Ryan closed his eyes, relishing in the noise, when that moment of not paying attention cost him. He felt his toes get stuck on the sidewalk crack and he tripped, flying forward, and slamming his head on the ground. The sunglasses broke on impact, flying off toward who knows where. He was knocked out for a moment, before the colors came back in, a ringing noise in his ears and stars dancing in front of his eyes.

Finally, he registered what he was seeing, felt someone leaning over him with their hands on his shoulders. Brendon, shaking him, panic decorating his face. But he felt another thing, too. A wetness building up on his chest and stomach. His stitches had come undone.

"Ryan, Ryan, Ryan," Brendon shouted, voice wavering. "Come on, wake up, wake up!"

This was dangerous. Ana would be coming any second, Ryan guessed, and he didn't want Brendon to be around when she did.

"No, you gotta get away," Ryan slurred, the concussion he undoubtedly now had making his voice sound even worse, "She's coming. She'll get you. You gotta go.." His head hurt so much, and he felt his eyes fluttering back shut, something calling him back into slumber.

Brendon shook him more vigorously, and he was forced to open his eyes back up. "Ryan, stay awake! Who is she? Who hurt you?" He asked, and Ryan could feel the fear radiating from him, the fear for his safety. 

He shook his head in response, feeling blood trickle down the side of his face from where he'd hit it. "I can't, I can't.." He murmured. If he told Brendon, Ana would kill him, he was sure of it. He stared up at Brendon's brown eyes, and started crying, loud and disgusting. Brendon didn't deserve to get hurt. And now, because of Ryan, he was going to. "Please," He could hear something, hear heels clicking in the distance, the loud noise echoing into the night sky. "I love you, Brendon, but she'll kill you, that can't happen, you have to go. Please." He begged. He wasn't in his right mind, he knew, but something had told him to say it. The footsteps were getting louder, louder, closer. He wished he could reach out, push Brendon away, but he couldn't.

Then, the footsteps were there, and Brendon just seemed to notice. He turned, only to be hit in the side of the head with a silver pistol, slamming him against the brick wall parallel to them. Ryan sat up, limbs shaking, hyperventilating fully now, sobbing like a child as Ana approached him. He tried to back away, scoot back, but it was no use. She tucked the gun behind her waistband and grabbed him under the arms, pulling him away from Brendon's still body.

" _No, no!_ " Ryan practically screamed, trying to buck away from Ana's grasp, trying to hook his feet onto the smooth pavement as he was dragged away. His eyes were trained on his ex lover's body, sprawled against the wall, eyes closed with a crimson line running down from his temple. " _Wake up, wake up, please!_ "


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's bound to be mistakes, just a heads up

"Sir, sir, are you okay?"

Brendon groaned, body aching. Where was he? Wherever it was, it was cold, and his back was pressed against something gritty that felt like ice. He tried to move his neck, but found tilting his head any way send his brain into a frenzy, a dull throbbing of a headache very, _very_ prominent. It was hard to remember anything that happened before he woke. Did he go to a party? Was this all some crazy hangover?

He forced open his eyes, eyelashes fluttering lazily as the light flooded into his vision. Bright light, and it hurt like hell, so he immediately assumed he might've over done it the night before. Pulling up an arm to shield his eyes from the rays, he slowly sat forward, feeling his body protest against the movement. It felt like the world was spinning on it's top, and he clenched his eyes shut, opening them after a moment and trying to keep what he assumed was vomit down.

Someone was crouching in front of him. It took his slow brain a moment to process what he saw, but when the golden badge registered he knew it was some sort of law enforcement. Like someone had flicked a switch, he was now as awake as a hangover would let him be, staring drunkily at the policeman across from him.

"Fine," He murmured, moving to stand up. "I'm fine."

A hand was settled on his shoulder, and he stopped, his head screaming at him to stop doing anything. He looked up, and was met with a concerned glare, the cop's eyes focused on the side of his head. Suddenly, a deep dreading feeling rose from his chest, and he put a hand up to his ear, feeling the sticky, drying blood matting his hair, sticking it to his scalp. He felt his cheek, how hot it was, the familiar aching he felt when he pushed on it of a bruise. It was like he'd been slapped. Hit.

Then, it all came back, and he realized everything else was unimportant. The cop, the blood, whatever charge he'd get for sleeping illegally at public place, everything. The only thing that mattered was what he'd seen the night before.

Ryan.

\--

Brendon never thought he'd cancel a tour. Never. But now, as he sat outside the hospital with his head in his hands, he knew he had to do it.

The last night was very fuzzy, but one thing was clear as day - Ryan had been there, at that coffee shop, hidden in a black hoodie with colorful bruises decorating his face. Brendon still remembered the fear in his eyes, the overwhelming terror that sat there. The way he'd been crying, quietly, trying not to call attention to himself. The way he had stiffened when Brendon sat down. And, if he concentrated hard enough, he slightly remembered glancing in Ryan's direction before, spotting someone sitting across from him. If only he could remember the details of the person..

As well as that, the things Ryan had said to him. _She'll get you, she'll get you.._ Who was _she_? Was she the person who was sitting next to Ryan before? He still remembered hearing the clicking of heels from right behind him. He had tried to look, but that was when things were basically undecipherable. After that, all he remembered was someone screaming, and an immense pain in his head and neck before it all went black. 

But there was something Brendon didn't want to think about.

 _I love you.._ those words Ryan had muttered in his concussed state, after almost two years of not seeing each other, and the only time before that was a very nonfavorable interaction, yet he had the audacity to say that to him. Brendon dated a girl, Sarah, for two years in as private as he could make it, and she had proposed to him. Long story short, he declined almost immediately, dropping the girl faster than he did anyone else in his entire life. All because he was confused, messed up in the head over the whole situation, over Cape Town all those years ago, over everything. Truth be told, he really didn't think of Ryan that much before he disappeared. After the break up, yeah, of course he did, but a couple months after he just stopped, other than some obscure references in songs that he didn't really think about. Really, he didn't want to make them about Ryan, but they just ended up being like that. Well, in general, he moved on, but not in a good way. More of a 'bottle up your feelings until you explode' way - which kinda was good for singer-song writer. His job was an excuse to get that stuff out. 

Wow. He just realized that was all his 'job' had been since Ryan left. An outlet to vent. 

Whatever. Brendon sighed, removing his face from his hands, rubbing his eyes before staring blindly out to the parking lot where unimportant people going to unimportant places resided. Cars raced pass his vision, probably too fast for being so close to the hospital, honking at people who were being too slow for their liking. His head screamed at him - the doctor had prescribed low grade pain pills for the concussion, with a name he couldn't pronounce, and he'd taken two before he left, but his migraine wouldn't let up. In fact, it might've gotten worse. He didn't know if it was because his body wasn't used to stitches so close to his brain or some other stupid anatomy doctor thing, but it still hurt, terribly. Every light - mostly the sun - made his eyes feel like they were going to fall out if he didn't close them, and every single noise, cars honking, people's chatter, made him want to fall asleep and never wake up. God, he was so tired. He had been since they announced Ryan missing - that there was so much of his blood at the scene that it was probable he had been killed.

 _But he's not dead_ , Brendon reminded himself, _I saw him last night_. 

No matter how many times he reassured himself that somewhere out there Ryan was fine, he'd always be wrong. From what he'd seen, Ryan was not okay. But he wasn't dead either.

The inner battle in his head raged on, the self-doubt against logic, emotions against common sense. Everything was a mess, and he didn't know how to feel anything other than grief.

\--

"Come over here, sit next to me,"

Ryan obliged without a single complaint. He feebly stumbled toward where Ana sat on the bed, gripping the edges of furniture littered around the room to steady himself and regain his footing just when he thought he'd collapse. His head spun and his nerves screamed with each step, but there was no reward in resisting Ana's demands. He reached the bed, his whole body trembling with effort before he finally climbed onto the plush surface, hands gripping the blankets as he hauled himself up. The bed creaked under his meager weight as he positioned himself, feet hanging over the side limply. Ana waited patiently until he was done, staring straight ahead without a cent of any significant emotion on her face.

Finally, after a silent pause with Ryan's eyes drilling holes into the ugly carpet, Ana spoke. "You know what? I forgive you for what you did." She stated plainly, not moving her gaze from the wall. "It wasn't your fault, was it? It was his, he came on to you." She shuffled on the edge of the bed, and Ryan stiffened, eyes going from the floor to her hand. He watched her clench her fingers into a fist, her bloody and bruised knuckles sticking out against her pale skin. She moved it closer to him. A reminder. He swallowed nervously, looking away, putting his own hands into his lap and tracing the designs on his dirty jeans. "Huh, you know," Ana started, voice rising in pitch, like she did when she had an idea. "He should get the punishment instead of you."

Ryan's spine went rigid and he looked up, frantically shaking his head no despite how dizzy it made him. Ryan had already been punished for running, beaten until he could barely even move, forced to drink the liquid in the plastic bins until he couldn't speak, and brutally tortured in many creative ways for hours on end. There were cuts on the bottom of his feet so he couldn't walk with pain, and he felt incredibly nauseous, like he could vomit any minute. He knew it probably wasn't good to drink that stuff. Right when Ana got a hold of his throat and the bucket to his mouth, everything in his body screamed at him to get the fluid away. In the end, he wasn't so lucky, and he knew he had obtained some kind of chemical burn or infection or something bad in his throat. He shuddered, closing his eyes, realizing that, if it hadn't been before, his voice was definitely ruined now. He couldn't even make a sound, other than a pitiful and ridiculous sounding whine, low and almost inaudible. All that had been done to him was punishment enough, and Ana was talking like he hadn't even received it yet. But, that wasn't even the worst thing about what she said. She was enunciating that Brendon, of all people, deserved to be _punished_.

Ryan opened his mouth, attempting to say no, but like he expected, only air passed through his lips, burning and tearing at his throat all the way up. He coughed then, rough and painful, doubling over and holding his bruised, broken chest. Blood splattered out from his mouth, and he felt like he was going to pass out before it finally let up. When he opened his eyes, rubbing them free of cough-induced tears, He realized Ana was no longer in the room.

Panicking, Ryan stood as quickly as possible, the gashes on his heels sending sparks of agony up his legs and into his knees. Regretting the decision, just as quick as he stood up, he fell back down, hitting the bed with a soft gasp. He lied on his back, eyes closed tight and breathing as heavily as his swollen throat would let him, thousands of images passing his eyes of what happened to him happening to Brendon, if he was even still alive with the hit he'd gotten from Ana's pistol. He still remembered his lifeless body, slumped against the brick wall, blood dripping down from the side of his head. It wasn't a pleasant memory.

Ryan flew up from his position at the sound of the door opening back up, and he looked forward, seeing Ana walking slowly toward the bed, traversing the cluttered area like she hadn't just thrown it all around minutes before. His eyes traveled up her body, stopping at her hand. She was holding in a death grip, a red plastic cup, filled almost to the rim with clear water.

The last time Ryan had drank anything at all had been the developing chemicals. Before that, Ana had brought him two glasses, but that was it for however long he'd been there. He didn't even remember the last time he'd eaten. But, staring intensely at the liquid life, he leaned forward, reaching his hands out toward Ana like a child did to their mother. With a smirk, the blonde set it in his grasp, and he pulled it to his lips, drinking slowly and savoring every last drop. 

When it was gone, Ryan felt disappointment settle in his chest, but dismissed it. He handed the cup back to Ana, and she took it, setting it on the nightstand before returning to her previous position beside the bed. Ryan, not paying mind to her at all, tried to clear his throat, and it felt it slightly easier and less vomit-inducing than before. Maybe, if Ana kept giving him water, he could regain the ability to speak?

"Ryan," He cringed at the sound of his own name, "Do you want Brendon to be punished?"

The question. Without a second thought, he shook his head, like he had before. Frantically. He did not want Brendon to be punished like he'd been. Words sat on the tip of his tongue, but he wasn't able to voice them, his opinion stuck in his head.

"Are you sure?" Ana responded once he reached the tenth wordless no, and he stopped worsening his migraine. Now, he slowly shook his head yes, eyes wide and fearful of what she was capable of.

She stared intently at him, her large, dark eyes tearing into his own soft brown ones. He stared back. Her pupils were small, not as dilated as before when she looked at him, and her irises seemed too large, and they took up most of the white space. The two lights by the bedroom door shone on the undecipherable color. Was it gray, brown, or hazel? A dark blue, perhaps? It was hard to tell, and hard to focus on them, the intensity of the unknown colors driving a spike into Ryan's brain. He looked away, blinking the picture out of his head.

"Well then, if he's not going to be punished," Ana inhaled sharply, a conflicted noise escaping her mouth, "I guess, would you like to see him?"

Well, that wasn't what he expected. Immediately after she was finished speaking, Ryan bobbed his head up and down, a firm yes, looking back at her sharp featured face with anticipation. Was she being serious? Would she actually let him see Brendon? Or.. what if that meant she'd capture him too?

He suddenly wasn't so sure of his answer.

He tried to speak, to ask her how, but only managed to send himself into another coughing fit. This time, however, he felt her steady him, grab a towel off the hamper and wipe the blood he hacked up off his arm. His insides burned, and the urge to puke was stronger than ever.

"We've got a photoshoot in a few hours," She stated, voice unnaturally soft, gentle. "He's coming here first so I can bring him to our location. I won't do anything to him, if you promise me that you won't try and run off." She crouched down in front of him, and their eyes met, except this time her previously tiny pinprick of a pupil was huge, the blackness suffocating. "You're sad, I can see that. I don't like that. You're no fun when you're all gloomy, and I like to have fun." Her smile widened, showing her bright white teeth, and Ryan swallowed thickly. 

He nodded, mouthing 'I promise' before leaning back, eager to get out of her gaze. Brendon was going to be there. He wondered if he'd been there before, but Ryan hadn't noticed because he was locked in the dark room. Now, however, he was allowed to sleep in a bed, and had the cluttered space to himself. Dimly, he thought if Ana felt bad about how bad she hurt him after the incident, and was trying to make up for it with all this stuff, but he shook it out of his head. No, she wouldn't do that. She was crazy.

"Well, he'll be here in a few hours. Make sure you're ready, and just remember," She stood tall, making her way toward the door. "I'll kill him if you try anything."


End file.
